


Ithilien

by Forodwaith (Northland)



Category: Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Drabble Sequence, Gen, Gift Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-08
Updated: 2012-10-08
Packaged: 2017-11-15 22:05:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/532278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Northland/pseuds/Forodwaith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once this land was the garden of Gondor. Now the stones of the farmhouse are buried in long grass combed by wind on the hillside. If there are bones here, they lie quietly under years of leaf-mould.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ithilien

I.

Once this land was the garden of Gondor. Now the stones of the farmhouse are buried in long grass combed by wind on the hillside. If there are bones here, they lie quietly under years of leaf-mould.

The chill wind pushes the unbearably sweet smell of rotting fruit toward him. Fallen apples, riddled by squirrel and bird, lie rolled under the knotted shadows of ancient trees. In the valley below the silver-scaled stream flashes on its way to the Great River. Faramir twists one nearly unblemished apple from the bough and bites into it, juice dripping from his fingers.

II.

"It reminds me of Hollin," the Queen said. At Faramir's questioning look, she added, "A northern land that is also deserted, though once it was tended by my people." She pulled the silky petals of a wild rose through her fingers. "This land would draw many of them, I think, especially my Greenwood kin. Should you object to sharing a small portion of your domain, lord Faramir? There are so few of us left; it would be no hindrance to you."

Elves as neighbours was a startling thought. But if their grace might restore Ithilien… "They would be most welcome."

III.

Grass is creeping over the burnt scars of the war. The hills of Emyn Arnen are loud with more than birdsong; they ring with voices, human and elvish, with the blows of chisel on stone and axe on wood. Ithilien is a garden again, tended and blooming. Last year's cider pressing was justly famed, and already the Elves are coaxing wine from the long-abandoned vineyards to the south.

Yet sometimes Faramir recalls the taste of wild apples, or the silence that a raven's call fell into like a stone, and remembers the days he was a ranger, not a gardener.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> The components of this drabble trilogy were originally written as birthday gifts for fileg and Tanaqui.


End file.
